My life changed my sophomore year of college when Catherine, who was studying to be a reflexologist, informed me that the foot is a microcosm of the human body. She pressed her tiny thumb into my gargantuan sole and asked me what I had done to injure my back. (Um… I was born?) That conversation kicked off my insatiable curiosity about Eastern medicine, nutrition and physiology. I also pledge to take better care of my feet.
I’m not just saying this as an excuse for me wearing slippers to work today. I’m serious.
I know there’s a right time and place for every mode of dress, but there is one thing in life I will simply not tolerate: uncomfortable shoes. I have never, in my entire life, worn a pair of heels. And that’s not just because I’m six feet tall. They are barbaric and unnatural. Even in the girliest of my stages, I never understood the obsession with shoes. Especially uncomfortable ones. I see women all dressed up on the street, looking like a million bucks, except they’re staggering along like an injured elk on five inch heels. How is that attractive? (Aside from the titillation of knowing she could not escape if pursued without ending up enticingly face-down on the sidewalk.)
Recent fashion trends (according to the covers of magazines in the grocery check-out line) are all about wickedly pointed shoes. Just thinking about my reflexology chart makes me wince in sympathy to people who cram their feet into elfin stillettos. The big toe represents your brain, — no wonder you’re bitchy and have a headache! And those strappy sandals are squeezing the crap out of your liver!
So, in general, I wear boys’ shoes. Mainly because girls’ shoes don’t come in my size, but men have also neglected to torture themselves with mishapen feet.
I have hardwood floors, and in the winter, they’re cold. I aquired a pair of slippers to compensate. The problem is, I haven’t taken them off in a week.
They’re black felt and they look like clogs. Just ignore the tiny embroidered snowflake on them. By accident one night, I was wearing them, and went out to get dinner, forgetting to change into actual shoes. And they were so comfortable, I forgot again later when it was time to take out the garbage. And the next morning, when it was time for work, I forgot a third time.
I started keeping a pair of respectable slides under my desk for this recurrent amnesia. Except now, I’m quite aware that I’m wearing slippers with my khaki capris and button-down shirt. I just can’t stop.
I even wear my slippers when I’m on my scooter. Riding around town, running errands? Slippers. Out to dinner and shopping? Slippers. All-company meeting with the CEO? Slippers.
They are holding up remarkably well, especially considering they’re felt, probably bound with elmer’s glue, and it’s been seasonally wet here.
I have to go to a wedding soon. If anyone sees a little black dress that would go well with my little black fuzzy slippers, please let me know. I just have to figure out how to get this snowflake off. I mean, really — it’s spring!